Sky is white, snow is white, face is white... White means Death.
Red.
Blood is red, cross is red, my shirt is red, mommy and Frankie are red. Red means Love.
Black.
My eyes are black, fly is black, I am black. Black means Life.
I draw a picture on my wall. I take some chalk, some colours, some water and slowly daub wallpapers in my room. My pale smile dances on my lips. I think about emptiness. I speak with nobody. He listens to me very attentively and does not ask any stupid questions like my doctor in the white hospital. Nobody looks at my picture. I call nobody Frankie.
Then we look at the window, sitting on the window-still. I breathe carefully on the window-pane. I give a piece of my life to the window and soon the huge stain of my respiration spreads on it. My finger draws a man with big black eyes. Frankie says that it is me. I answer that it is he. He laughs. I laugh too.
It begins snowing outside. White snowflakes fall on the ground, sit on my window; they dance a waltz with each other. Their voices are as sweet as ice cream, which my mommy used to buy for me in my childhood. Snowflakes call me to join their dance. Frankie warns me that there is winter and I can catch a cold. But these little white flies laugh so funny and circle so beautifully in wrong exciting order. I can't help smiling with happiness and run out of the house. White fairies take my black arms and spin, spin!.. My feet slides in damp snow and I dance with little snowflakes. I am laughing and crying. I am gasping.
And suddenly I see a white snowy face. Its lips strain in smile. I catch a glimpse of this face. I feel warmth like my mommy takes me on her hands and clasps to her chest. I call this face "mommy" and cry again. My mommy has returned! She takes my hand and says: "Ease". We dance together on the roof of my house. I ask her: "Why?", she answers: "Snow" and lets my hands go-off. I cry: "Mommy, no! Don't leave me again!" and hear her laugh. I feel warm palms of my tears stroke my cheeks.
I chase my mommy and suddenly see many white people below on the street. They look at my roof and show at me. The boiling hatred rises in my chest, I cry to them: "My mother's left me! You - stupid dead men! You're white because you're dead. But I'm black. I'm not dead. And Frankie and my mommy are not white. They are as red as blood in my inflamed heart. Because I love them! But... you don't hear anything..."
Sweet smooth whisper tells me: "Don't be afraid... Fly, little fly. Fall down with these little snowflakes. You're black. Flies are black, don't you know?" I answer: "Yes, they are, Frankie, I know"
And I fly.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a dead ceiling of a hospital. I felt a pungent smell of white sheets on the bed. White cold light shone into my eyes. "Poor chap, - Frankie said, - They've caught you again"
"They're so cold and white, - I whispered, looking with dry blue eyes upward, - they can't dance and laugh. What a sad story".
I smiled. I closed my tired eyes to fall asleep and to think that only that morning I saw my life as being empty and dull.
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